


Silkworm

by Peacockery



Category: Deltarune (Video Game)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Bath Houses, Character Study, David and Goliath dynamics, Humiliation, Inspiration piece, Magic Revealed, Nudity, Revenge, Role Reversal, but it's hardly romantic, kingkaard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 10:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16808893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peacockery/pseuds/Peacockery
Summary: The King of Spades learns very quickly that no ruler lords forever, especially when that lesson comes from a certain pretty face he vastly overestimates.





	Silkworm

**Author's Note:**

> This was an inspiration piece after I saw an absolutely gorgeous picture of Rouxls decorated with gorgeous marking. So, with that artist's permission I wrote this. :) I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> As a side note, I have yet to actually the game...I apologize for any naivety with the world building here.

_ “How doth the bantam silkworm sleeps, betwixt thy gentle threads…” _

There was a soft hint of spice and citrus in the sweltering humid air. Around his form did the wisps of steam arise like serpents from the waters of the royal bathhouse, twisting and licking upon his bare flesh as he wandered in slow circles throughout the massive pool. The room was dark; darker than his own skin. But Rouxls could see the text on the pages just fine among the creeping dimness from the wafting mist and flickering of distant candles. 

Out of how depressing and unconventional his prison was, the bathing chamber of the King was a very peaceful place. It was like a quiet shrine inside a dismal forest.

The pages of his poetry book were starting to wilt along the edges from the persistent moisture but the Duke didn’t mind. To have earned his title had been a prestigious honor, and he intended to keep it all to himself. The King must have seen something in him- a Duke! And one of Puzzles, which was an even greater honor. Rouxls was witty. Rouxls was cantankerous!...whatever that meant. The King had bestowed that word upon him too one evening after a jolly debate on the treatment of spiders. If his lord and master spouted more honors after declaring him Duke, then surely it was most definitely, unabashedly (another zinger) a very good thing to have. He just needed to keep proving himself to demonstrate his usefulness, and as such, Rouxls studied.

Puzzle books. Experiments with knick-knacks in his private quarters. Running through scenarios while doing yoga, projecting his big plans for the ultimate conundrums while in Downward Dog as the Prince ate junk food on his bed. This honor was important.  **He** was important. The King needed him.

But…

But.

Someone as fine as a Duke deserved to need himself from time to time.

Rouxls was staring at the sketches on the page far longer than he needed to. By the time he silkily trilled out the next line of the poem, he was already up to the cusps of his ribs in hot water.

_ “Unmindful of thy gifts and life, t’adorn inhuman heads.” _

He swooned. Pure, sweet poetry. He pushed his smiling face into the old pages, thinking of beautiful worms and fanciful words while keeping the book safely away from the rolling steam which kissed along his pectorals. Oh, how doth thy bantam silkworm…

...Bantam?

Rouxls raised his head back up and took a gentle inhale of the incense while thinking. Bantam...nay, he had nary heard of such a word. But he was clever and wise as Duke, and puzzled out that it must have been a word of great prestige. A bantam silkworm...clearly, it was influential. Important. Beautiful...his lips quivered in a selfish little smile. 

Just like him!

So, bantam had to have meant “majestic”, clearly. Obviously. Only a beast in complete confidence of itself could sleep so peacefully.

His toes began to scrape along the tiles of the pool bottom, preventing him from pondering much further on the idea. Rouxls held the book above his head as he forced himself against the resisting water, gaining momentum in graceful strides as the surface descended to his hips again. The blessed tome was splayed out beyond an edge of the pool and he sank down upon it to rest his chin on crossed arms. His lashes slowly batted in dreamy sweeps as he looked upon the drawings again. Sweet sketchings of plump little grubs dotted the page, nibbling on tender leaves and spinning threads to clothe themselves. He observed a cocoon dangling from a drooping stem while a small coo escaped him.

So simple, so helpless...but with so much potential to be something so much more.

Velvet wings under a pale moonlight. The sound of heartbeats skittering through a romantic night. The ways of silkmoths were so...misunderstood. The Duke took in another slow inhale of the steam and spices, lulled by the warming bliss that was starting to bleed through his skin. His nerves twinged in tingling delight, as if little tickling claws were prickling out his tension points. His mind felt so heavy from swooning under the intimate poetry. Naked spa baths also helped.

Rouxls closed his eyes and missed the start of his skin changing color. The brightening began subtly, dark and inky as his hide shifted him from a midnight's child to a navy dreamer. If a smartass was in the room, then they would not skimp on the chance to joke about a night sky missing its stars. But there was nobody; he was alone and enjoying it immensely. 

He shifted to rest his knees against the wall, pressing a cheek against a propped fist as he tapped the page with a still-damp finger.

_ “How sweet and fair thy dreams can weave, to spill thy silver boons...” _

The heat was definitely getting to him now. His head was drifting along with the steam. His muscles were loosening into putty around his bones. Every breath he took was like inhaling a dream about an exotic land, so rich and zesty on a parched tongue. The steam was patting at his cheeks like a fond friend, urging him in a tempting silence to forget his studies and slip back into the waters of serenity.

It was hard to say no to such a tempting offer.

A sanguine smile crept along his blissful features as he moved to brace his fingers around the pool’s edge to prop him as he rolled in to plant his feet. With the grace of an accomplished swimmer, the Duke propelled himself off of the wall and submerged beneath the surface as an eruption of bubbles grasped out to touch him. The resistance of the water forced him into slowing near the center, where it held him in a suspended embrace as he allowed the tension to raise his body back to the surface to be reborn again. The blazing fog dispersed before his gasping mouth, followed by fluttering eyes which batted away the stubborn drops which clung to his lashes. Rouxls could hardly touch the bottom here; this spot was the King’s resting space. Like a great hippo could the monarch settle upon his thick haunches and still be able to keep his head above the water with ease, meditating in his own cruel thoughts as the sours of the world were corroded away from the incense and oils infused into this treasured space. But Rouxls was no king, and even his mightiest efforts couldn’t allow him to touch the bottom here. 

He kicked his legs hard to propel himself just a bit higher above the water, buying precious seconds to sweep messy strands of sopping ivory hair away from his face. Peace permeated from his core like warm radiation; primal fear bothered him naught this fine night.

Rouxls sank back into the deep and tightened his neck when the water rushed back to caress it. The deep inhale his lungs took allowed him to remain steady there for a moment longer while he slowly rolled onto his back and settled into a lazy drift with his limbs spread lackadaisical. In the slowing of time, he felt like a son of the universe. He felt a brilliant and gorgeous spirit blooming inside the shell of his monstrous body with the childish resolve to come bursting out. Because Rouxls was beautiful. He was wise and clever and important, all things he truly and faithfully believed with every pulse of magic which granted him life. At peace with these facts, he settled into a peaceful meditation while the vapors of his heated bath began to crawl over his body like a spidery fog.

His mind thought of the silkworms and their gentle toils, of the beautiful cocoons they wove for their enchanted slumbers and of the regal and noble silkmoths which emerged when their bodies reached enlightenment. He thought of himself as one of those moths, ready to take flight and show the kingdom of his talents and preparations. He was needed. He was desired.

A gentle light began to light up the outside of his eye lids. Smiling to himself, a vain glee overcame Rouxls as he opened them again to instead stare up at the ceiling. Flecks of white started to creep along its contours from some heavenly glow emerging from the pool, but its origin was of no mystery to him.

He never knew of what to call it. His species, when at the peak of serenity, entered a state that he could only label as “true glowing”, in which an intense burst of concentrated magic emerged from the mortal shell and etched itself upon the canvas that was the virgin body. He tilted his chin down enough to regard himself with lovestruck eyes, watching the metamorphosis taking place.

Like the backings of a prestigious deck of playing cards, his skin was being painted by a series of intricate white lines. Many intersected and laced like vines and ivy, producing smaller patterns between them like insects among the stems of a royal garden. Diamonds and dots spotted the lesser open patches while tranquil mandalas bloomed upon his chest and belly. It was like watching an enchanted forest emerging from the sanctuary of night, taking life when the prying eyes were fast asleep. He glowed like a tribal warrior adorned in his armor of tattoos. His nails along fingers and toes remained bright and true as if the blood of his magic threatened to press against them. His mouth produced wisps of ethereal white like a purring dragon’s fire. And his eyes enraptured a bright and true starkness as though the light punctured the top of his mouth and invaded the brilliant space of his head. He lay there among silver-tainted waters in his state of nirvana, glowing and brilliant and completely high off of the peace swelling up from inside of him. Rouxls returned to staring at the ceiling, which was now basked in a rippling glow from the force of his magic’s aura. His glowing hair fanned around him in a satinous halo. 

The world was peaceful in here. This place was the cocoon to nurture his budding genius. As he took in deeper breaths, the runes along his body dimmed and pulsated with striking life. Eventually, a soft bump against his head reminded him of where he was, and he sank back down onto his feet once the waters had carried him to another edge of the pool. The book was on the neighboring corner, which brought him great comfort in knowing he hadn’t drifted too far. As he walked, the waters around his loins glittered like diamonds from the patterns decorating his body. He pushed himself out of the steaming water and back onto dry land, watching the droplets twinkle like tiny stars as they fell from his incandescent form. Each marking rippled with alternating currents, producing an aurora of flowers, diamonds, vines and butterflies against the curves and contours of his body.

Pitiful fools, all of them. They would never see such a gorgeous lightshow behind his uniforms. They would never understand the intensity of which his eyes would burst into a brilliant glow when his state of excitement peaked, or why he spoke as if a tiny star had been buried deep within his throat. Of how his hair produced an almost opalescent crown of color around its snowy softness, or how his voice spoke almost in a mix of wind chimes and mewls whenever a particularly whimsical thought struck his fancy. When True-Glowing, he was a wishing star descending. And they would never know.

He painted a trail of water behind him as he squeezed out the weight in his sopping hair. Rouxls found innocent joy in snapping his fingers as if conjuring a spell, watching the remaining droplets firing away from them. He bent over in a light bow to collect his jacket first among his pile of clothing which had been neatly folded upon a chair. As he unrolled the exquisite overcoat and admired the threading, the visage of the silkworms in his poetry resurfaced again.

The Duke paused to test his memory.

_ “How...sweet, and fair! Thy dreams can weave...to spill thy silver boons...” _

_ “ _ **A virgin to fate’s baneful claws.”**

A thunderclap of terror whipped through his body, and he spun around in surprise. It was as if time had slowed in that moment, capturing an artistic beauty in how his coat had fluttered up to cover his decency as if it were a sheet and he the sculpture. Naked and nearly exposed, Rouxls clutched his clothing close to his navel as his eyes went wide and his markings pulsated wildly in tandem with his riled nerves. The King watched him like a devil in the darkness, lingering so massively in the small doorway that he nearly took it up entirely. There was a sinister glinting to his teeth from the pristine glow that arced among them.

The King took a step forward as his gut mouth lurched in a toothy sneer. Rouxls held his ground while his runes started to dim. He was expecting the royal hand to strike him down when it extended itself, and still flinched upon feeling a meaty knuckle pressing itself against his cheek. Instead of an open palmed slap like he was used to, a gentle rubbing grazed his cheek. The King’s gentility with it felt as though he didn’t believe there were tiny circled markings running down the Duke’s eyes. That horrible mouth was lightly parted as the corrupt monarch fought for his next words. But only after a snort of agitation left though them first.

**“fed’st thee by sterling spoons.”**

Just the growl alone clued Rouxls into his mistake. He hadn’t been invited to be in here, inside the King’s private bathing chamber. But he was Duke, and that was a title by royal designation; he had the right...didn’t he? He took a step back when the King leaned in, opening both sets of teeth as a gutteral rumble bubbled out of at least one of them. He was being stared at from the darkness of that cowl, whether he knew or not where specifically those murderous eyes actually were upon him.

“S...sire?” He squeaked as his markings threatened to die out completely. A gloved claw uncurled to...carefully sweep his wet hair from out of his eyes. Rouxls whimpered, but loosened up to look at him again. Something was off about his master. Normally, the King wouldn’t have a thought in his mind (or any reservations) with pushing him around and making terrible jests of it. Right now, the hulking monster appeared almost lost in a fantasy of sorts, stiffened up and staring at him with a strange docility to his actions. Uneasy, the Duke held his coat up a bit tighter when he noticed the King’s head tilting downwards just slightly. 

The tyrant snorted, and looked away while scolding him.

“Bold of you to be mucking up my bathing chambers, Duke.” He grumbled in a softer tone this time. Rouxls took the opportunity to hastily put on his coat, but it was still just high enough to leave his loins completely bare. Whimpering, he had no choice but to remove it to fumble with the logistics. The King exhaled slowly as his patience wore thin. 

“Put it back,  **_Duke_ ** **.** ” He hissed. Damned idiot couldn’t even take advantage of mercy. So, he wouldn’t deserve it. There was a skittish pattering of feet behind him as Rouxls sheepishly tossed the article back onto the pile with the others. Faithfully...fearfully, the sounds became louder as he returned to the King’s backside. The cruel ruler smiled through his gut mouth while his actual lips remained conflicted in a twisted sneer. Good. Let the little bootlicker stand there in his shame.

The second he turned around to lay into the unruly pup was the moment that all fight died in his nerves. He saw the markings again, glowing faintly like dying embers as they flickered erratically upon the Duke’s skin. He had never seen such a sight before...oddly, there was a naive curiosity he felt budding in his mind: his thoughts of abuse suddenly felt so selfish. The King stood up straighter, walking back up to his subject while also completely shadowing him. He studied the strange runes and disliked that he was feeling a foreign sense of...calmness, looking at them. That felt so unnerving and yet too familiar, like an old dream he had almost forgotten from years past. The duo held an uneasy staredown with each other, trapped in a twisted and hazy patch of time. Had he ever looked upon this fool with so awestruck and gentle gaze before?...

“What is this?” The King demanded, baring his fangs and yet making no demands for fealty. Rouxls completely had the power in the moment to lie or deny him. But he didn’t. He was a mouse being cornered by the deadly cat, and instinct told him otherwise in acting out. The Duke swallowed air as he wrung his hands.

“Tis...hard to regale, s-sire…”

The brute was silent for a moment, staring every inch of him down. Meekly, Rouxls covered his loins with folded hands and was surprised when his master made no moves (yet) to degrade him for his disobedience. The large monster seemed to be thinking, if the way his actual mouth had settled into a deep pout was any indication. Finally, that massive paw raised itself again, but lingered shakily after it tried to hone in on where the Duke’s hands were. Rouxls furrowed his brows, wincing and uneasy. The King’s terrible fingers hovered before his own, but it seemed there was great hesitance in actually making the grab. Now THAT was an awkward moment.

“What is the meaning of this?” The tyrant growled again, beyond offended. This time, there was a great and uncomfortable strain to his voice as he continued to stare at the glowing marks. His hand trembled as if it were on fire, so close at ripping the Duke’s away for his pitiful rebellion and yet it struggled with great uncertainty in following through. Frustrated, he pulled back and lunged in again. The results were the same, and that frightened him. He felt a sudden rush of doubt and...shame...feelings he had long snuffed out. 

Rouxls was frightfully bewildered but thankful. He opened his mouth to speak, his own confused natterings falling on deaf...hood, as the corrupted monarch stomped past him on a humiliated rampage. Something violent instantly resurfaced in the large monster as he effortlessly picked up the abandoned book and shook it around in disgust while no doubt venting his building rage. 

“You breach my sacred chambers to defile them, and now you toss around my gifts to you?” He hissed. This stupid little book was a poetry collection that had been intended for children learning the “proper tongue”, but he had tossed the useless thing at the Duke one day to keep the annoying dumbass out of his throne room. Naturally, he shouldn’t have been surprised that Rouxls had treated it as a sacred tome of ancient knowledge and had been touting it around with great admiration. The King held it with pinched fingers, dangling it like the hot garbage that it was as he took two great steps over to the edge. There was a frightened choke of an inhale from the poor bastard beside him. 

“SIRE! I BESEECH THEE!” 

Grinning cruelly, the King turned his head slowly to take it all in. He craved the raw pulses of fear that infested his subjects. He wanted to see it swarming the “Duke” with all the disgusting finesse of the roach swarms that the pretty twit somehow fawned over. Even he was surprised to notice in tandem with Rouxls that the bizarre markings had left his darkened pet. They both stared at the puzzle crafter’s arm as all noise left that skinny little throat. The King’s gut mouth quickly matched his own smile. It spat out a long, sticky tendril which hooked around the Duke’s naked chest and yanked him in. 

Powerless, Rouxls wrenched his eyes shut as he panicked. His precious book, doomed to disintegrate in the steaming waters! And he, woe be he, fated to be utterly flayed alive in the oncoming seconds for his insolence and arrogance…

He had to think of something. Think of the butterflies. Think of silkworms and of the earthworms with their soft wiggly bodies. His parents had always told him to think of the things brought him joy whenever he found himself in unwanted situations. The technique had helped him bypass more savage punishments by the monstrous ruler, but at the cost of solidifying his presence as the resident bimbo: pretty, a yes-man, but too stupid to entirely fathom the negatives. Gullible had become his middle name. But as he was pulled closer and closer to that terrible gaping maw, dreadfully closer to those sharp and awful claws while he strained in terror to hear the impending splash...Rouxls thought of the silkworms. Of the butterflies and little stick insects he sometimes found in the trees. He thought of his favorite teas and jams he would put on the biscuits that went with them. Frantic, his mind recalled the sweet little prince and of Lance calling  **him** father and sneaking in at night to sleep in a safe space by his side…

The more he thought, the more a grounded serenity began to overcome him. 

_ “Think of the little things, son.”  _ His father’s soft voice echoed in the mental passages of his memory. He couldn’t dishonor that advice.

The thick cord along his torso began to twitch and spasm against him before it ultimately loosened up. An uncouth gurgling sounded off above his head. When the Duke felt composed enough to look back at his master, he saw that same baffled and hesitant awkwardness in the King’s rather simple features. His hand was still holding the book above the pool, but his face betrayed any ill intent it must have still had. It was slack with silent wonder, staring him down in a bipolar meekness. Rouxls reluctantly glanced away to instead focus on his arm again, surprised to have found that the beautiful markings had returned to his exposed skin once again in a vibrant glow. Baffled (yet fascinated), he started observing the King’s off-putting behavior again. Everything was tense and shivering, straining under labored panting as if the brute was locked up in a freezer. The pages crinkled between his restless hand. Rouxls pouted and cupped his own cheeks as he tensely watched the display.

“Thy most k-kindest king…” He whimpered, hating how conditioned it sounded, “thoust taketh mercy upon me…” He expected to be thrown in right alongside the doomed tome. His eyes widened as his master instead did the unthinkable: the King pulled back his arm. Acting in great pain, the lord of this cursed domain actually, unbelievably performed the next jaw dropping feat. Lowering his head in great dismay, his giant hands instead moved out to present the battered book to the Duke.

Rouxls honestly didn’t know if it was polite to accept the poetry again or to leave it in the hands of a clearly tormented dictator. He could remember now all the times the King had berated him on reading the thing, asking in what sounded like polite curiosity regarding research breakthroughs, only to twist the excitement of discovery into something that was supposedly a nuisance.    
  
****

**_Close the book, Duke_ ** .

Those words were haunting in their frequency. Usually something unpleasant always came after.

Rouxls stood there, vulnerable and confused as he glowed with all the cosmic glory of some divine celestial being. His runes outpaced his own thinking, glowing brilliantly at the enticing offer. Slowly, uncertainly, he accepted the book again. He held it to his chest while biting his lip during his internal puzzling. This was not how his King normally was...but he seemed awfully invested in the markings.

The Duke’s eyes widened, and a selfish pang returned.

Turning his head slightly, he croaked out an uncertain test to this theory. 

“Grant thee space.”

The King’s twin sneers deepened at such an insult, but he found himself stumbling back on his heels. He growled like a defiant beast as his own servant raised his brows in growing revelation. Rouxls was biting a knuckle out of anxiousness as he was now using the book to cover his loins. This was an incredibly dangerous game...but there was a taboo excitement to it. He must keep testing what his mind had the audacity to insinuate. 

“Turn.”

The smaller hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he watched the giant monster slowly rotating to turn his back on the Duke, though the second he finished obeying was when the destructive rage resurfaced again. The King’s muscles bulged from under his portly layers of adipose, bristling like a tiger caught in a snare. He bellowed out in disgraced anger while spinning back around, ready to lunge and tear that traitorous bastard’s head clean off of his pretty little neck…

They both hitched in a gasp as The King instead lurched forward in an off-balance miscalculation from the second that his hooded gaze saw those cursed runes. He waved his arms in a violent flail to regain his balance, hunched and remaining so as he twitched and stared at the glowing beauty of the markings.

Rouxls hadn’t realized that he hadn’t been breathing until the strain in his chest demanded mercy. He inhaled shakily as fear and discovery tangoed into a white-hot pulse into his core, illuminating him further as he realized now what was happening. The King was much more than just a king in the twisted deck he commanded. He was an Ace; an instant overpowering force in many games. But in others, his 11-dialed tyranny can easily be torn down to a measly 1 status when unspoken laws willed it.

He had willed it.

His face fell from fear and instead realized his control, setting itself into a determined pout as he puffed himself up and flashed his runes brighter and brighter into a purely incandescent glow. He thought of more pleasant joys and started to sidewind around his longtime tormentor. This was true power, and it felt so new and frightening. It felt  **good** .

“Hark! Watcheth thine Duke.” He felt more bold in saying that. A vain smugness tickled at his terrified nerves when, as anticipated, the horrid bastard had no choice but to keep his gaze locked onto the glittering runes in their aurora pulses. Rouxls backtracked towards his clothing, keeping a firm and challenging stare at the distressed monarch while he at least regained his decency by putting on pants. His upper body still thrummed with powerful magic, his markings bare and now warpaints of intimidation as they kept this devil under humiliated control. The King gnashed his teeth, which was the only mark of rebellion that he still had under this grueling hex.

“You lecherous grub! I will disembowel you where you stand!” He bellowed despite his painful trembling. His girthy legs were locking up into a numbed statuesque state, but he refused to cry out from the discomfort. Intense feelings of soothing  _ nothingness _ and invasive regrets threatened to soften his mind, but he refused to let them in. 

“I will paint my halls with your foul blood!” A hushed disappointment willed him to feel shame for saying that. Seeing those runes made him hear a tingling sense of...warmth, and of merriment. Disgusting. He struggled again, but his legs refused to move. His talons clawed uselessly at the air. That sickly, nauseating old feeling he had long fought hard to surprise began to bubble up from the pits of his fouled guts, rippling inside his brain with old eldritch whispers. It was the one sensation he had wrestled long and hard to break by burying it deep into the hearts of his subjects like a lawless surgeon. It was the sound of destruction that tore down a kingdom’s walls and incinerated the hearts and wills of kings.

It was fear.

He had to resist it again, now more than ever.

**_“I WILL FLOSS MY TEETH WITH YOUR ENTRAILS!!!”_ **

But his pet stood there still, seemingly unmoved by his oaths as a serene gentleness overcame him. His little asskisser was still holding that damned book at his side, watching him with dreaming eyes as ornery little thoughts were no doubt influencing the light budding of a smile on his darker features. A proud and powerful king, reduced to a petty role in another playing field. Stripped of his influence...and no doubt struggling to make sense of it all. 

No card can lord forever.

Not when the rules card resurfaces.

**Author's Note:**

> If you wish to leave any requests or simply want to reach out to me, check out the links on my profile. :)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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